


What Have I Done?

by vlo9089



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Death, Gay Keith, Gay Lance, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mistakes Are Made, Sad, Suicidal Lance, Suicidal Thoughts, Voltron, blame, blaming self, lives are lost, mentally unstable keith, scared keith, suicidal keith, this is tear fuel, unstable keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:11:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlo9089/pseuds/vlo9089
Summary: Keith is having a had time in the year following his lover's death and decides to follow in his footsteps.Keith's POV





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry in advance?  
> I do NOT support suicide. Let's get that out of the way right here right now.  
> I wrote this in the middle of the night to vent, because fanfics are a wonderful way to get out anger and cry it out.   
> Also, because I wrote this while I was very upset and tired it's probably not of the highest quality. whoops.

Have you ever felt someone else’s world on your shoulders? Or have you ever been in a situation where you know you didn't try hard enough? Or a situation where you saw the signs and thought they’d solve themselves? Have you ever realized how badly you fucked up, but it's too late and someone's dead?

I have. 

On January sixth, 20xx, I lost my first and only partner, Lance McClain. It's all my fault too. I know that it is. It's not some gray area maybe it was my fault and maybe it wasn't bullshit. It was all my fault and there isn't a day that goes by where I don't stare at the other side of my bed where a blue pillow still lays. There's not a moment I've genuinely smiled since then. There’s not a memory or thought that can run through my head and not send the sharpest spike of guilt through my body. I've been on medication for almost a year and the first anniversary is tomorrow. I don't think I'll live to see January seventh this year. There's no point. 

All I do is burden my friends. They come over constantly and try to get me food or they clean up for me. Sometimes they just sit with me in silence as I stare at the ceiling. I don't know why they won't just give up on me. All the effort they spend on me now should have been used to keep him alive then.

I don't want to see another morning. I want to quit waking up in cold sweats reimagining a limp tanned body on the bathroom floor. I wish I could forget the blank stare of the man I worshipped and praised daily. I wish more than anything in the world I could give my life for him to come back home. I'd give my life to hear the front door open, and hear him kicking off his shoes. If I could hear him laugh one more time I might die at peace. If he could just call my mullet stupid one more time I'd be the happiest man alive. 

Ya know… it was pills. Pills I didn't even know he had. Anxiety medicine. Xanex to be exact. I didn't even know he was prescribed those. I knew he had a prescription but not anything of that caliber. Typical of him to not want me to worry, but I didn't even try to know. I never tried to know. He’d want to talk about his day and I'd be busy with something “important” when the most important aspect of my life was losing the light in his eyes. 

We argued. Never physical but I nagged him too much over the little things and I always had to show him up instead of showing him how to do things. He was suppose to be my partner not my rival. He was my equal in every way and I treated him like shit every single day. If it wasn't this, it was that. I never understood why he got so upset when I didn't thank him. I never knew how important he was until he was gone. 

He’d do little things.  
Dishes.  
Take out the trash.  
Clean the living room.  
Do the laundry.  
Bring me sweets.  
Run my car to the car wash.  
Hug me.  
Kiss me.  
Love me.  
He loved me and I don't know how he did it. I hate myself. I always have. He just kept me afloat.

I told him thank you a handful of times at best and knit picked everything. Before I knew it, he was distancing himself from me and we didn't even talk anymore. We cuddled, sure, but he slowly quit doing all those little things one by one and I'm sure by the end of it he didn't love me. How could he? I didn't deserve him. I didn't deserve love in general, but certainly not his. I thought he was pulling me up, but I dragged him so far down that his body is literally rotting 6 feet below the surface in a fucking cemetary. It’s all my fault. His is family doesn't blame me and our friends don't either, but I neglected him. He didn't talk to me, because I didn't let him and apparently no one else let him talk either. 

How could we let such a selfless, wonderful man feel so useless that he downed 16 pills that didn't even get the chance to fully dissolve before he died. My boyfriend, I don't even have the right to call him that, Lance, killed himself because we didn't recognize how amazing he was. If he's rotting in the dirt I deserve worse. I deserve so much worse.

\------------

Today is January sixth. I've decided I will not see January seventh. I can't keep living with this guilt. There's no reason Lance should be dead while I'm living. It’s 5:33 a.m. which is exactly 6 hours and 42 minutes away from the year anniversary that the love my life was pronounced dead. I have about 3 hours until I'm suppose to be meeting my friends at the grave sight but I'm shaking so bad I can't hold my pen straight and I keep glancing over at the pistol on my bedside table. I don't want to wuss out of this. I owe Lance at least this much.

Maybe when I'm dead I can meet him in the afterlife and I can show him how precious he really is. That's a long shot though. He’s off in heaven somewhere and I know I'm going straight to hell where he'll never have to look at me. I hope he had God prepare me a special spot in the heart of hell for making him feel so awful. That's truly what I deserve. I still want this to be a bad dream. I want to wake up to him in his blue lion ‘jammies' as he called them, but I know It's too late for that.

I've scheduled my death 6 a.m. and I have 19 minutes left. I hope my living friends understand and I hope they aren't too mad at me. I wish that this wasn't going to be so messy at least Lance spared me that much, but I wanted a sure fire end. Straight through the temple. With 11 minutes left I found myself laughing. Laughing at what could have been. Lance could be here if I'd been more attentive. Hell, I could have proposed by now. I love the idea of marrying him and growing old with a couple kids we've adopted. My friends would be excited aunts and uncles. We’d be a happy family but it’s too late for that. 

With 3 minutes left I found myself sobbing and with a minute and a half left I was walking to the bathroom with one of at least ten drafted lettered and my pistol. I look in the mirror at my face. It has been a while since I looked at myself. I was paler than usual, my hair was matted, and the tear streaks were so bad that I don’t think I could wipe them away if I tried. This is good. It’s good that I suffered for him. I’m glad that I suffered for him, hopefully it’s a fair exchange. I hope he accepts me back in the afterlife, knowing I punished myself for him… I turned my head towards the clock.

11 seconds left.

“I'm sorry I didn't realize that I can't live without you.” 

Then everything was black. For the first time in a year I felt like I’d done something right. This was relief and he was there, against the swarming dark and he had a little glow to him. I expected either anger or a smile from him. What I didn't expect were his over flowing tears. I kept walking towards him and could never reach him. Sometimes I could hear him cry other times everything was too muffled. I don't know how long I've been running towards him.

What have I done?


End file.
